Ineluctable
by AnihyrMoonstar
Summary: TwoShot. The whispered words “Sleep with me,” were an order, an offer, and a request all rolled into one, and Butler supposed it should have taken more than one kiss, three words, and a gentle tug towards the bedroom—but it didn’t. Butler/Artemis
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Artemis Fowl, Domovoi Butler, or any other characters from the Artemis Fowl series, and I make no profit whatsoever writing nasty stories about them.

**A/N:** This is a sort of fluffy, romancy doodle thing. I experimented with the time line, and it doesn't have the dialogue wordplay that I usually like to dally in when playing with this couple, but I still kina like it anyway, so I'm using it as my first tester post here. Hope you guys enjoy!

P.S. Artemis, as I mention once briefly in there somewhere, is twenty-four in this short.

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**PART ONE**

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_Warmth._

Butler's mind registered that before anything else, mentally cataloging it as a disparity from the norm, then dismissing it. Unthreatened, he let himself wake slowly.

Slippery silk sheets came up to his waist, a plump feather mattress below—all normal enough—and soft light from an open window teased his shut eyes. Unwilling to wake fully quite yet, he frowned and turned his head in, nestling it behind the soft curtain of thick, dark curls before him and—an invisible switch flipped.

Suddenly, Butler was _awake,_ bodyguard instincts taking in everything at once.

The gentle rustle of heat on his fingers was not a morning breeze but slow, peaceful breathing, the initial warmth in his bed not sunlight but a live, sleeping body curled up neatly against his, and Artemis was—naked. His hair smelled of chamomile and spice—probably his shampoo—and it looked like spilt ink against the white of his shoulders. Butler shut his eyes, took a slow, deep breath, and made himself relax.

* * *

_Salty._

Salty and warm, and surprisingly dry—for a sea breeze. Nightfall had dulled the sharp, stinging summer heat of mid-day, but only slightly, and the ground still radiated with it, throwing off the lingering remnants like too many thick blankets. A soft sigh meshed into the distant crash of the ocean on sand, and Butler turned. Sometimes, class barriers hit like a headlong run into a pane glass door—hard, sudden, and always, always unexpected. Despite increasing frequency as of late, it never failed to catch him off-guard.

Beside him, real and artificial light competed for space and shadows on the all-too-familiar angles of Artemis's face, silver and yellow and black in sharp lines like abstract art, and the light wind danced with his hair like a scene from a movie. His white chemise and loose tie completed the picture, the thin fabric hugging his lean figure on the side that faced the breeze. Twenty-four years had done their job almost too well.

"Domovoi…"

The use of his first name surprised him, as his charge rarely used it, even now. It usually preceded something delicate—personal.

"What is it?" asked Butler, concerned, and for the longest time it looked as if Artemis planned on answering. His mouth opened, hovered on the verge of an explanation. Then, rather abruptly, he shut it again and shook his head. Instead, he stepped forward.

Piece by piece, like frames in a slideshow, Artemis shortened the distance between them, and Butler watched, as if from afar, as he approached, given every chance to retreat but unable to budge until body heat permeated the clothing barrier, their chests all but touching. He opened his mouth, but the question died in its outset, effectively silenced by smooth, cautious fingers reaching up, brushing the nape of his neck and catching. When Artemis leaned up and tugged down Butler's mind blanked. Surely Artemis wasn't going to—but he was. And Butler was going to let him.

The first kiss tasted like Artemis and red wine. Sweet, tangy, and rich—and it never occurred to him to withdraw. Some very distant voice that might have passed as a conscience—or common sense—mumbled something about duty and consequences, eighteen years of age difference and the surely magnanimous effect such actions would almost certainly have on what was previously a comfortably rock solid platonic relationship, but the whispered words, "Sleep with me," were real—an order, an offer, and a request all rolled into one—and Butler supposed it should have taken more than one kiss, three words, and a gentle tug towards the bedroom—but it didn't.

* * *

"_Hn_…"

In his arms, Artemis stirred, a warm, contented sigh tickling Butler's fingers and soft, naked skin sliding up against his legs, chest, stomach, and—_other_—parts of his anatomy. Butler buried a quiet grunt in dark tresses of his master's hair.

This might prove to be a long morning.

Reining in control, Butler shut his eyes once more, breathed in the truer scent of skin and sweat under the mask of other, artificial odors, and mentally tagged it as _Artemis_. He opened one eye to trace the long, smooth stretch of Artemis's bodyline before it disappeared under the covers, wondered how long he had before the younger man woke, wondered what he would say when he did, and debated whether or not to give in to the rising urge to lean forward, brush his lips against the bare corner of flesh between neck and shoulder, and taste, if only for a moment.

He ran his thumb along the curve of Artemis's hand, already curled into his own, and felt something embarrassingly similar to butterflies when the fingers instinctively tightened their clutch. He wondered what _exactly_ Artemis wanted out of this relationship.

* * *

_Pop._

There are some things one never forgets.

A soft, hitched breath made its way into the now never-ending kiss that twined them together as they backed slowly, blindly, towards the bed. Long, agile fingers made quick, easy work of his shirt as they went, pushing it up and back, urging it over his shoulders and down, and after the first smooth pearl button, all the others on Artemis's too, quickly followed suit. Butler was eternally thankful that mutual undressing fell under the same category as riding a bicycle in that respect.

As shirt buttons clittered quietly against the hardwood floor, Butler _felt_ Artemis's smirk against his lips, and his chuckle was soft and breathy. "One day," he murmured, "you'll have to do that the _other_ way…" and Butler raised his eyebrows questioningly, pulse responding immediately to the spark of mischief in those dark eyes as Artemis's smirk curved into a grin.

"What other way?" Butler asked, genuinely curious, and a swish of the head on Artemis's part sent all those loose black locks tumbling behind his shoulders, hands clasping neatly behind Butler's neck as he leaned back, matching the raised eyebrows with his own.

"Why…the one that _ignores_ the buttons, of course," he answered smugly. "The one that sacrifices finesse for efficiency and results in a preferably unsalvageable shirt by the end…"

An image of trapping Artemis to a wall, taking the fine cloth of one those expensive designer button-downs in two fists and shredding it porn-film style with one good, sharp tug filled his mind's eye, and Butler groaned, because this 'other way' meant two things. First—he caught the nape of Artemis's neck, dragging him back close and relishing in the smaller man's shiver against him as their bare chests made full contact for the first time—it meant that there would be an 'other' time, silencing his worst, unspoken fear of a one-night stand, and second, well—he nipped the bare collar of Artemis's throat, drawing a short, startled moan from his charge, and Artemis's fingers tightened their grip at his neck—it meant that he had permission—nay—_orders_, to rip Artemis's shirt off and leave it in tatters on the floor. Butler grinned, flicking his tongue teasingly across the new, warm pink bite marks on his employer's otherwise perfect throat, and Artemis made a soft, keening noise.

"Domovoi…" Impatient hands shoved at his chest. "Bed," Artemis ordered hoarsely.

Butler's grin broadened.

_Yes, sir_.

* * *

"_Ungh_…"

Artemis's first utterance was some indistinct mixture of a grunt and a whine, muffled against the covers, and Butler held his breath, waiting. _One, two_… There—the smaller body tensed in his arms. Awake, aware—it wasn't much, but with Butler's trained hypersensitivity, it was impossible to miss. Seconds ticked by.

"Domovoi…?"

Show time.

Butler forced the breath out. Long. Slow. "Hn?" he murmured, hardly daring to move a muscle.

Like knocking over a bucket, the tension spilled from his charge. The whisper of "Finally," was so soft Butler almost wasn't sure he heard it, and then, quick as an exhale, Artemis broke the spoon, rolled to face him and buried his face against his chest, ordering sleepily, "Turn off the sun…"

Butler blinked, stared, and then, slowly—relaxing—he smiled. "Good morning to you too," he murmured.

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**A/N: **If you have any inclination whatsoever please don't hesitate to review. I would _adore_ some feedback on this. Thanks for your time! ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Ok, yes, yes, I know it was "complete" a long time ago...but I decided to write more. This chapter, heads up, is definitely rated M.

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**PART TWO**

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_Pant._

Fuck.

_Shwoop, tap-tap, clatter—_

Shoes and socks joined shirts and ties in a heap on the floor, and the plush, queen-sized bed dipped under the weight of one body—two. Domovoi's belt opened with a clink under Artemis's practiced fingers, and the bodyguard groaned. Lead by the front of his pants down, onto the mattress, on top of his charge, he readily accepted the offer of sweet, pliable lips, and when sure fingers swept low, shamelessly tracing the line of his arousal through a now uncomfortably tight barrier, Domovoi gave a full-body shudder. Artemis's half-moan was dizzying.

Did Artemis just lick his lips?

Domovoi opened his mouth, but another damp kiss cut him off before words formed, and as Artemis's lips melted under his, parting eagerly for his questing tongue, Domovoi decided to forgive the silencing technique.

In light of twining, rubbing tongues and humid, mingled pants, the pop and zip of his remaining lower garments became background noise—at least, until the breathy command of "Over," accompanied a gentle push to the chest, Artemis's palm urging him over, onto his back on the mattress, and, though mildly surprised, Domovoi complied. His heart gave a stuttered thud when Artemis followed, slinging a long, still-clothed leg over his waist as they went and effectively straddling him on the landing.

But good heavens if he wasn't beautiful.

From the pillow, Domovoi's eyes raked up his charge's body. From the long, spindly fingers currently splayed out across his stomach, up his arms to ink black hair spilled loosely over pearl white shoulders, flushed pink cheeks and darkened, parted lips. Time had not changed Artemis's exercise habits, but mature male hormones alone had added a certain amount of definition to his otherwise light build, resulting in a sleek, lean body of flat angles and delicate, understated muscle tone. When Domovoi reached his face, keen, midnight and hazel eyes returned his gaze from under a thick veil of lashes, lusty and glazed.

"Someone," said Artemis matter-of-factly, "ought to sculpt you." He traced a curious line across the plane of Domovoi's stomach, outlining sharp contours of muscle, skimming ridges and valleys as if committing them to memory and leaving heat strokes in his wake. "You're breathtaking, did you know?"

Artemis utilized the brief moment of speechlessness that followed to slide down, settle himself between Domovoi's knees, and only then, when Artemis dipped his head, dark hair dropping like a curtain around the sides of his face and hot breath curling over the center of Domovoi's arousal, did it become patently obvious _why_ they had changed positions.

It had been so long since he last blushed, at first Domovoi almost didn't recognize the sensation, but, since it seemed that every ounce of blood not in his cheeks had immediately pooled _else_where—namely, that place now insanely close to Artemis's dark, parted lips—there was little left over to supply his brain with oxygen, let alone thinking capacity. Thus, already at a disadvantage, the objection he felt obliged to make rather quickly disintegrated into something of a short, guttural, and largely indistinguishable attempt at his employer's name when Artemis closed the distance.

"_Artemis_…"

"Hm?" The single-syllable response was heat and vibration, and Domovoi swallowed a groan. There was still _cloth_ between them, dammit! His head fell back heavily into the too-soft pillows below.

"You don't…" he began through grit teeth, "have to-"

"Nor did I have to kiss you," interrupted Artemis candidly, speaking with the unhesitating alacrity of someone long anticipating and already all-too-eager to brush off the objection, "however, as I understand it…" It was amazing what two lips in the right place could do to one's concentration, tracing up the length of his clothed erection and sending colors to his brain like hormones were on blue-light special, "…consensual sex is not so much about fulfilling pre-determined requirements…as it is about the mutual satisfaction of all parties involved, and at the moment…" Artemis's heterochromatic gaze flicked up, locking with his own. "I would very much like to swallow you whole." Everything in Domovoi that identified him as healthy, sexually capable male specimen agreed—wholeheartedly. He swallowed thickly. Wasn't there some sort of unspoken rule about filthy rich aristocrats not giving head? "So, unless you have any genuine protests…?"

Then again, Artemis never really was much into rules…

Artemis took his silence as a go and smiled, a rather smug murmur of, "I thought not," immediately preceded the timely disappearance of all remaining clothes on Domovoi's body. When Artemis dipped his head, pink tongue laving the length of him and then curling to draw him expertly between his lips and—well, suffice to say Domovoi was very grateful only Artemis was present to witness the sound he made. How Artemis managed to smirk—and look _arrogant_—with a cock halfway down his throat, was leagues beyond Domovoi's realm of comprehension. Maybe he'd contemplate it later—when Artemis wasn't—_mercy_—doing _that_ with his tongue, twitching and rolling, and then pursing his lips and _suckling_ and—_?_

Domovoi buried his head back again with a groan, too dizzied to care that he probably came out sounding like some hormone-heady teenager with embarrassingly virgin-esque sensitivity because, damn it all, he hadn't had sex in over twenty-four _years_, and surely that granted him _some_ sort of leeway in the 'extra-sensitive' department, right? Not to mention, Artemis didn't seem to be practicing.

Perhaps a little too quickly, Domovoi crushed that train of thought.

Knuckles going white in the coverlet, he was _not_ going to think about the 'where's, 'when's, and 'with who's of how his charge might have accumulated cock-sucking experience. In fact, he assured himself in a rather pathetically unconvincing attempt to sooth the sudden, irate and irrational red-eyed beast of raging jealousy, it was totally possible that Artemis had never done this before at all. He just instinctively _knew_ how to curl his tongue and suction his cheeks, tilt his head and vary the pressure as he slid down—slowly—giving a hum for extra vibration as he took inch by torturous inch into that wet, beautiful mouth.

Right. Artemis Fowl was just born unlawfully good at giving head. Sure. That was plausible.

Not.

_Fuck_.

The thought of someone else's _lips_ on Artemis's had never failed to give Domovoi an itchy trigger finger—never—and anything beyond that… A feral growl escaped of its own accord, and without thinking, his hand snatched out, locking into Artemis's hair and twining—possessive. Artemis's moan enveloped him, sinking to his bones and he shuddered, watching with a half-lidded gaze as Artemis's eyes flicked up, long lashes low over a lust-laden stare and dark lips curled around him like the candy he still swore to hate.

It was the most erotic thing Domovoi had ever seen.

At least until—holding his gaze steady—Artemis lifted his head, moving gradually up, up, 'til he held only the tip, just trapped between his lips, and then proceeded to go back down—and down, and down. At some point, Domovoi lost track of how far exactly, vision blurring and stars taking over as the miniscule amount of remaining focus within him funneled into trying to re-teach his throat and lungs to cooperate, because of all the things Fowls absolutely positively did _not_ do—like bed their butlers and give blow-jobs—_deep-throating_ was definitely at the top of the list.

Except that that was exactly what Artemis was doing. And, if the fact that he _still _had yet to gag was any indication, it seemed that he knew what he was doing, too.

Domovoi swallowed an undignified noise, screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth not to buck into the suction of Artemis's mouth—and throat—_god_—and his choked groan of "_Artemis_…" was gravelly and breathless.

He needed a new list of absolutes.

All in all, it was an egregiously short period of time before Domovoi found himself tugging up at the loose locks below, shaking his head with a hoarse growl of, "Up, up, up," as familiar, coiling heat pooled in his gut, tightening in on itself, and he shook with the effort to force it back. "_Ahfuck_, mercy," he hissed, "Artemisifyoudon'twantto_swallow_…" and Artemis paused—looked up. Domovoi wasn't quite sure if he whimpered—and he sincerely hoped he didn't—but he wouldn't have been surprised, and—not a moment too soon, Artemis relinquished his mouthful. Half the bones in Domovoi's body liquidated with his exhale.

"How's your recovery time?"

Somehow, someway—maybe at some point later on when he could _breathe_, Domovoi vowed to repay his young master that smugness. For now, though, "I…" his panted words came only with great effort through the dizzying, disappearing promise of orgasm, "have not done this…since before you were _born_…"

Artemis's eyebrows twitched up, momentarily thrown, but then it quickly dawned that yes, actually, that did make perfect sense, and at that point the corner of his mouth moved up as well, taking on an amused half-smirk-smile that looked—edible. "Well, then," he said, proceeding on all fours up the bed like a cat until he hovered, neatly aligned over Domovoi's prone figure, "it would seem that we have a lot of catching up to do, wouldn't it?"

And there it was. A thinly coded promise of not one but many nights to come, where they fell together not in ephemeral surrender to a moment of weakness but in a welcome and familiar ritual, and Domovoi's heart gave something starkly akin to a flutter.

When he reached out, Artemis's cheek slid soft as water under his fingertips, and eyes all too capable of frigid realism warmed a fraction, something cold melting back like the last frost before spring, and the sharp, potent lust there softening for a moment into something else altogether—then, as if sensing the loss of some vital cover, Artemis darted forward, shutting his eyes and pressing their lips, and for the moment, Domovoi let it go. He let his fingers tangle in long locks damp with sweat and pretended not to notice the leafy tremble Artemis tried to hide. He let their lips catch and meld, and tried not to read too deeply into the way Artemis's fingers, too, found his face and held, timid and needy and impossibly tender all at once. And he wanted to ask for that promise in words. Artemis's words. Real and voiced in earnest as opposed to scrolled unspoken between the lines. But even he wasn't that brave—not yet.

So, he let his hand slide down Artemis's back instead, dragging the slim, lean body to him and drawing out another, different kind of shiver. He committing that long, smooth stretch of skin to memory and relished in soft, heady pants that melded into their kisses. When his hand met the waistband of Artemis's pants, he grunted shortly.

"You," He gave Artemis's lower lip a gentle nip for emphasis, "are overdressed," he muttered gruffly, and against his lips, Artemis smiled.

"Quite," came the quiet reply, and one butterfly kiss later, Artemis sat up, shoving hair aside carelessly before leaning back and reaching down—but Domovoi caught his hand at the clasp.

"No, wait," he murmured, following Artemis to a sitting position and momentarily earning himself a lapful of startled genius, "let me…" and another kiss muffled the first sound Artemis made as Domovoi's hand nudged his aside, taking responsibility upon himself to unfasten and unzip. When his lips brushed curiously downwards, tracing up a smooth, sweeping jaw line and then catching on a free dangling earlobe, Artemis breath trembled beautifully.

"Domovoi…" His voice held an earthy tremor that swept like a promise of thunder on the breeze under Domovoi's skin, throbbing in his pulse, and stoking up his heart rate. He growled lowly, trapping that earlobe in his teeth and tugging—just enough to make Artemis writhe—and the pant of, "_Ahfuck, _I want…" spilled out in a tangled rush, though what exactly Artemis wanted remained indefinitely unclear, lost to a choked groan and another softer, more tenor sound that he buried vainly in the curve of Domovoi's neck as Domovoi's tongue curved up the shell of his ear, and "D'arvit, _Domovoi_…" came out thick and heady—music and adrenaline and potently addictive to Domovoi's ears.

Securing one hand on Artemis's hip, he took a full grip of now-loose cloth with the other, dragging pants and boxers alike down low on Artemis's thighs. When his palm made first naked contact _there_, Artemis's hiss sank into his shoulder, slim body arching into the press and long fingers tightened around his neck.

"We need-" began Domovoi.

"-left pocket," finished Artemis, barely more than a pant, but Domovoi obliged, and, sure enough—lubricant.

Domovoi frowned as a thought dawned. "Artemis, were you planning-" A finger touched his lips.

"I," said Artemis succinctly, "always plan. _However_," His contradiction cut off Domovoi's next interjection, "the short answer is that no, the lubricant you are now holding was _not_, in fact, planted there tonight with the sole intention of seducing you and riding you as if intercourse were going rapidly out of fashion." Domovoi—mature, hardened, and experienced man that he was—blushed crimson. "I've taken to…carrying it around with me as of late. It's proved useful on occasion."

Apparently, Domovoi's opinion of _that_ showed instantly, because-

"And no, I am not giving you any addresses," said Artemis, sounding infuriatingly amused.

"Hn," grunted Domovoi, twisting the cap off with his thumb and mentally fanning through a list of the most painful death maneuvers taught to the aspiring bodyguards of his class, "and if I promised to kill them…reasonably quickly?"

Artemis smirked. "Interesting enunciation on 'reasonably,'" he observed, leaning in with a pleased hum as Domovoi caught the smirk in a kiss. "Possibly," he conceded when they withdrew, "if you behave yourself."

A quiet "Hmph," mingled with a sharp inhale when Domovoi's damp fingers made first contact low on Artemis's back. "Always, sir," he replied.

Yet, for someone who 'put lubricant to use,' Artemis was impossibly tight, and when his grip tensed on contact, Domovoi paused immediately. "Artemis," he began warily, "are you-"

"Rule number one," Artemis buried his voice in the crook of Domovoi's neck and shoulder, "I am sure. Don't ask."

Domovoi shut his eyes, gave his young master a short pause to breathe, and then, slowly, nodded. "Of course," he agreed. Instead of proceeding immediately, however, he drew his spare hand up, circling Artemis's back, and dipped his head, brushing past damp locks to kiss jaw-line, neck, and shoulder. He waited, judging Artemis's tension with practiced patience until he relaxed. Only then did he move again, and slowly.

Gradually, Artemis's body took to it, stretching and adjusting, then finally moving to Domovoi's pace. When Artemis's breath was ragged against his shoulder, fingers tight and body rocking, Domovoi paused once more, earning himself a muted whimper of protest.

"Dom-"

"You might have warned me," murmured Domovoi with a faint hint of reprimand, "that you had never done this before…"

Artemis gave a shuddered exhale. "It wouldn't have been entirely true, even if I had…and I saw no logic in giving you any further reason to hesitate."

Domovoi grunted. "Perhaps so I wouldn't _hurt_ you?"

"But you didn't," said Artemis, face flush as he lifted it and words breathless, but sure. "You never have…and I trust you not to start now."

"You trust me more than I do," muttered Domovoi, but he let the issue rest; it rarely paid to argue with Artemis Fowl. Instead, he shifted their positions once more, lowering his charge gently back to the sheets, and then aiding with the removal of the last of Artemis's garments. Only when the last piece finally joined the rest on the hardwood did Domovoi allow himself pause—and the result well deserved it.

Rich, plush silk swallowed up long angles of smooth ivory, ethereal moonbeams spilling over Artemis's bared chest like caesious watercolor on snow. Then, Artemis quirked an eyebrow.

"Enjoying the view?"

Domovoi dipped his head, a vaguely confirmatory "Hn," escaping before he caught Artemis's lips again, relishing in the feel of a racing heart that had nothing to do panic or fear for his charge's life as their chests slid together, uninterrupted by anything but skin and sweat. "Yes, actually," he answered when he pulled back, and then asked, "How do you want…?"

Artemis spread his legs a fraction wider, drawing his knees up slightly and catching a hand behind Domovoi's neck. Domovoi took the hint.

"If-" he began.

"I'll tell you," promised Artemis. Then, on a softer note, "Don't worry, you won't break me…"

And, of course, he didn't.

A muffling kiss swallowed the first whimper, and another the moan that followed, but soon soft, sharp inhales drew out into long, heavy gasps, and concepts of pain and restraint fell back like loose shackles turned to dust. And maybe there would be other opportunities, or maybe everything would fall apart come morning, but neither concept stopped Domovoi from taking his time—savoring every twitch of expression like a snapshot and every buckle and arch like a stolen memory, mapping Artemis's body like a treasure code and mentally tallying what made his eyes shut, his breath catch, and his toes curl. He waited until Artemis shook with want and trembled with exhaustion, too far gone to remember not to beg and then too breathless to scream when he came, and only then did Domovoi bury his own release.

When he slumped to the side and tugged gently, Artemis readily curled back, fitting into the curve of his body like the second half of a two-piece puzzle, and Domovoi smiled, dropping his head to rest and shutting his eyes with the press of Artemis's hair on his nose and cheek. Tomorrow, there would be explaining to do, but for now, it could wait. For now, this was enough.

* * *

_Crash_.

The break of the wave hit, flattened out and danced up the sand. From behind, Domovoi watched it skitter up, just far enough tickle over his master's toes—bare in the white sand—before receding once more.

After several moments of unacknowledged silence, he said, "Petrov called back," letting the mention of their most recent client alert the other to his approach, though it felt more like a comment on the weather than anything else. Artemis gave a neutral nod, but said nothing. A foot from his side, Domovoi stopped. Several minutes passed before Artemis lifted his eyes from the horizon to his.

"Is that what you came to say?" he asked.

Domovoi traced the light glow of morning with his eyes, a warm pink on Artemis's cheeks and neck, pastel on his shirt. His coffee looked untouched. "No," he admitted.

Artemis notched his eyebrows expectantly.

"What did you mean…when you said it wouldn't be entirely true…?"

Artemis blinked, taking all of a fraction of a second to consider—then, he turned his attention back to the horizon. "Exactly that," he said. Domovoi waited, watched another wave crash in—this time not quite making it to its previous mark. The tide was going out. "I wasn't a virgin, surely you knew that much…and I don't bed women, but before last night, I had never trusted anyone to…mm…," Artemis cleared his throat, glancing briefly to his mug before rising his eyes straightly to Domovoi's, "Well, to put it in layman's terms, I'd never been fucked," he said. Apparently, something betrayed in Domovoi's expression because Artemis rose his eyebrows. "Is it so difficult to imagine? I know, domineering and power-hungry are so far from the list of adjectives one might use to describe me…"

At that, Domovoi chuckled, relaxing slightly. "Now that you mention it, perhaps not so difficult," he admitted, "but then…why did you do it?"

Artemis tilted his head.

"Why did you kiss me?"

For a long pause, Artemis made no reply. Then, softly he said, "To see if you would kiss me back." Domovoi watched the play of thoughts on Artemis's face and wished, not for the first time, for a window in. "You're…important to me, I…" Suddenly, Artemis frowned. "No," he shook his head, "that's…a deplorable understatement. I…" He took a breath, "love you," he said, "…to such an inordinate extent that it terrifies me on occasion, and…for the longest time I told myself that our friendship was invaluable…by no means worth putting at stake for the sake of an off-chance at something more, but…at some point, _not_ taking that chance became the greater of two evils and living without knowing was…impossible." He shifted his weight in the sand, rearranged the mug in his hand. "I must admit though," For the first time since the question, he lifted his head, meeting Domovoi's eyes, "I had intended to take a slightly less…abrupt…approach to the matter."

"Oh?" said Domovoi, and Artemis's cheek was soft under his fingers, his breath warm and close—he smelled of coffee. When a gentle sea breeze danced through the last inches left between them, Artemis's lashes dipped, following his eyes to Domovoi's lips.

"Was that what you came to ask?" he murmured, and Domovoi's "Yes, sir," became nothing more than a quiet prelude a kiss—one that forgot the beach, history, and namesakes, where Artemis parted his lips to Domovoi's on an open shore in the sun where the world could judge, should it choose, and which cemented in a moment a relationship which perhaps always had been ineluctable. Hours later, after moving back indoors, undressing, redressing, and everything that happened in between, Artemis would ask if this meant that Domovoi loved him too, and Domovoi would answer, "Yes. Very, very much."

Fin.

**A/N: **Reviews? :D


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